


Blame the Cat

by ureshiiichigo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, post season 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo/pseuds/ureshiiichigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again, Derek is stuck somewhere with Stiles for an extended period. This time witches are involved. </p>
<p>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the fabulous [percygranger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/percygranger). This was originally posted on [tumblr](http://ureshiiichigo.tumblr.com/post/86335207654/stiles-and-derek-are-on-a-boring-lookout-and-to-kill), written for [this prompt](http://wolfprompts.tumblr.com/post/86033481897/stiles-and-derek-are-on-a-boring-lookout-and-to-kill#notes) on [wolfprompts](http://wolfprompts.tumblr.com/):
> 
> _Stiles and Derek are on a boring lookout and to kill time Stiles starts talking about how he dreamed of Derek back when he was still possessed by the nogitsune. He tell how he was guilty, because he wasn't supposed to fall asleep, but he wished for it so much because he always dreamed of Derek. Heartfelt confessions in the car ensue, bonus for first kisses!_

"I’m hungry," Stiles whined, for about the fourth time in as many minutes. 

Derek grit his teeth together and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "You’ve eaten the entire stash of cheetos already. How are you still even hungry?"

"Fine. I’m not hungry, I’m just _bored_ , are you happy now?" Stiles’ knee started jiggling up and down, making the frame of the car shake. Again.

"Leg," Derek growled.

"Oh, for the love of—" Stiles started, glaring at Derek, lip curled in a sneer. He cut himself off and pressed his right hand on top of his own leg, muscles visibly twitching as he stopped the movement. "Come on, it can’t be that bad for you. Do you know how obnoxious it is to stop myself from doing it? I mean, it’s a compulsion, really, and it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose—"

"Stiles."

Stiles cut off abruptly and turned to stare at Derek. "What?"

"Watch the exit."

There was still no sign of movement in the office building, and he and Stiles had been sitting there for almost three hours at this point. If Derek didn’t know better, he’d think Scott had set them up so they’d be forced to spend time together. It wasn’t such an unlikely possibility, actually. Scott probably thought he was doing Derek a _favor_. Jesus.

Stiles thumped the back of his head against his car seat and groaned. "This is the worst." He wiggled in his seat distractingly, and Derek tore his gaze away, instead focusing on the second and third floor windows of the building across the street.

"You said you wanted to help," Derek said. "Scott told us this is how we could help." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Stiles throwing up his hands in frustration.

"Yeah, well, he probably figured we’d be doing something else while we waited." The scent of nervous arousal spiked suddenly. Derek scowled out the window and forced himself to ignore it. "Talking!" Stiles said, his voice unnecessarily loud in the quiet car. "I meant talking, yeesh."

"I think talking is inevitable if you’re in the car," Derek pointed out.  "Conversation, not so much, but talking, sure."

"Oh, shut up, you’ve had plenty of opportunities to contribute." 

Derek could hear the amusement in Stiles’ voice, and he glanced at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, he was grinning. "Shutting up seems counterproductive if your goal is conversation."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Of course it’s not my goal," he said, sarcasm thick in his tone. "Why would I want to talk _to_ you, when I can talk _at_ you?"

Derek snorted before he could stop himself, and Stiles broke into another blinding grin, waggling his eyebrows at Derek when he caught him looking. Derek tamped down on the warm feeling blooming in his chest and turned back to the window. They were here to do a job, not… anything else.

Derek scanned the roof exit once more, but it was still completely quiet. "If you’re so bored, come up with something to talk about."

Stiles hummed thoughtfully beside Derek. "What about dream symbolism? I’ve been reading about it online, it turns out there’s a lot of psychology that goes into dream analysis. Like, it’s not all just bullshit."

Derek tried to hide his wince. On a good night, he didn’t remember his dreams. "Seeing my relatives burn up in the fire doesn’t exactly require analysis." He certainly wasn’t going to talk to Stiles about any of his more enjoyable dreams.

"Oh, wow," Stiles said, "okay, bad example. Just, like, do you ever dream about, you know, pack? Friends?"

Derek turned to look at Stiles. There was something odd in his tone. His face, though, was a carefully constructed mask of innocence. "Why?"

"Well, I mean, I’ll dream about Scott, and stuff," he said, but his heart skipped a beat, and he kept his eyes trained on the windshield, nowhere near Derek or the building they were supposed to be watching.

"I’ve dreamed about Scott, sure," Derek said, with a shrug. "I’ve dreamed about everyone in the pack." Dreamed about them dying, but he wasn’t about to say that.

"Everyone?" Stiles said, deliberately casual.

"I’ve dreamed about you," Derek said, shrugging in an attempt to play it off. He turned to look at Stiles full on, and found him blinking back at Derek with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, me too," Stiles said, his eyes flicking between Derek’s face and the gear shift. "I mean, not. I dream about myself, but that’s sort of obvious, because, you know, I’m the one dreaming, so all my dreams include me automatically." His expression turned thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder what it means when you dream and you’re not yourself. Like, I used to dream where I was an imaginary uncle, or my mom, and I knew I wasn’t _me._ Is that indicative of some sort of psychosis?"

"Probably," Derek said, raising one eyebrow so Stiles would know he wasn’t being serious. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Stiles said, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. "Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed you were someone else."

Derek licked his lips, watching Stiles to gauge his reaction. "I once dreamed I was Uncle Peter."

Stiles stared at Derek for a beat before breaking out into cackles. "Oh my _god_ ," he croaked, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "Please tell me this was before he became evil."

"I think he was always a little bit evil," Derek admitted.

"Shit, is that movement?" Stiles blurted, eyes widening, and Derek whipped back around to look at the building. He didn’t see anything at first, until—

"It’s a cat," Derek said, tracking the black and white blur as it ran along the third floor window ledge, towards the north end of the street. He turned back to Stiles when it leaped onto a nearby rooftop. "Really?"

Stiles just grinned back at him and made a chopping motion with his hands. "I’ve got epic reflexes."

Derek rolled his eyes before turning back to the window, but he could still feel the smile ghosting his lips. He shouldn’t be smiling at Stiles’ jokes. Hell, he shouldn’t be alone with him right now. If he wasn’t careful, he would start thinking that the Stiles sitting next to him was the same as the Stiles in his head.

"You know," Stiles said, after less than a minute of silence, and Derek sighed internally, "for a while, I stopped having nightmares while I was possessed."

Derek swallowed, but he didn’t turn around. Stiles’ voice had been quiet and deliberately casual. It occurred to Derek that Stiles probably hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about his time under the thrall of the nogitsune. Scott had called Derek three times the week after Allison died, in tears. Only once had he called because of Stiles; he had been screaming loud enough for Scott to hear him three neighborhoods over. Derek wasn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad thing that the Sheriff had been on duty at the time, and out of hearing range. 

"Yeah?" Derek asked, after it seemed like Stiles wasn’t going to say anything else unprompted.

"I guess it figured that the easiest way to control me was to get me to go to sleep, so if it gave me nice dreams I’d go willingly."

Derek turned to look at Stiles. He was staring down at his lap, his fingers twining together nervously. "Did you?"

Stiles laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "I wanted to."

"What—" Derek started, but then thought better of it. Asking what Stiles dreamed about was a can of worms best left unopened.

Stiles’ eyes darted up to meet Derek’s. "What, what?"

"Nothing. It’s not my business."

The set of Stiles’ mouth hardened, and he turned to look outside the passenger window, his hands stilling in his lap.

Derek resigned himself to awkward silence and went back to staring out the window, but he couldn’t shake his awareness of Stiles’ slowly rising scent of frustration, or the ways his muscles were practically vibrating with tension.

"You don’t—" Stiles said, before stopping himself mid-sentence. Derek heard the click of his teeth against each other, the huff as Stiles breathed through his nose. "I call bullshit."

"Yeah?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows and turning to stare back at Stiles in challenge.

"You don’t get to start something, then chicken out at the last minute. Just fucking tell me what you were going to say. I’m not some tender flower, I can handle your criticism."

Stiles looked and sounded angry, his muscles tensed and eyes narrowed. But he smelled afraid.

Derek licked his lips, weighing his words carefully. "Must have been pretty nice dreams."

"Your point being?"

Derek narrowed his eyes. "What exactly were you dreaming about?"

Stiles smirked, but his eyes darted to the side, and his heartbeat ramped up. "I’m a teenage boy, what do you think they were about?"

Derek blinked at Stiles, surprised. "Sex," he said, almost-but-not-quite a question. "You dreamed about having sex."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes, captain obvious, I had sex dreams."

"I don’t buy it." Stiles was stubborn. The nogitsune wouldn’t be able to tempt him with just sex. It would have to be more than that, something with meaning.

"No? Clearly you haven’t been having the right sex," Stiles leered.

Derek grimaced. He was fairly certain that his past sexual experiences would incite envy in absolutely no one. No one sane, anyway. Stiles didn’t seem to notice what he’d said, though, so Derek just shrugged it off and bulled forward. "Who could the nogitsune possibly have offered you to make it worth it?" Derek asked. "Lydia?"

Stiles’ eyes widened as his adrenaline response kicked in. "No," he snapped, and turned his back to Derek, staring out the window with his jaw set.

Derek decided not to push, though he couldn’t help notice that the scent of arousal in the car was only getting stronger, and it wasn’t entirely from Stiles.

***

Derek saw the same cat three more times, probably climbing in through a fire escape or open window in the back of the building. Derek couldn’t see any obvious access from the street, but it wasn’t like he cared about a cat. Stiles drifted off into uneasy slumber, tossing and turning in his seat in a fruitless attempt to get comfortable. At some point, Derek reached between the gap in the headrest and leeched a bit of pain from the back of his neck. Stiles simply rolled onto his side and sighed in his sleep.

Derek sent a text to Scott to let him know that they hadn’t seen anything suspicious; five minutes later he got an abbreviated response that there had been no luck on Scott and Kira’s end, either. Derek idly wondered if they were just spending the time making out instead of actually watching out for signs of witches or magical activity.

He didn’t have long to ponder it, though, because Stiles started making whining noises in his sleep, his muscles twitching, face creased in a frown.

Derek reached back behind to leech more pain away, but this time, nothing happened. Derek reached over the gear shift to rest his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, squeezing gently. "Stiles," he murmured, just a whisper at first. "Stiles, wake up." If Stiles were to wake up suddenly and attack him, it wasn’t like Derek couldn’t heal.

Stiles eyes fluttered open, but as soon as he focused on Derek’s face, he relaxed back into his seat and the frown was replaced with a sleepy smile. "D’rek," he said, his face softening.

Derek’s heart sped up and he found himself leaning closer. The last time he’d seen Stiles this loose-limbed and happy was on Scott’s birthday, when he’d downed an entire bottle of tequila and then flopped onto the couch to talk about breeding bees in Minecraft, his hands looping in circles above his head.

"We should get you home," Derek said, but before he finished getting the sentence out, Stiles had slid one hand up to cradle the back of his skull.

Derek drew in a sharp breath, his muscles frozen in place, and Stiles leaned forward in his seat and pressed soft lips to Derek’s.

It was gentler than he’d pictured it, just a light press at first, before Stiles’ eyelids fluttered shut and his other hand came up to frame Derek’s face. Stiles’ long fingers brushed against the stubble on his chin, his cheek, before stretching past his temple to wind into his sideburns and the hair above his ear. Derek let his own eyes drift shut, lost in the sensation of slightly chapped lips brushing against his own. He felt Stiles’ tongue flick out to nudge against his lower lip, and let his mouth fall open to let Stiles dip inside, the slightly sour taste contrasted by the scent of warm, sleepy arousal that rose up from the two of them. Derek shifted in his seat, trying to angle closer to Stiles as he spread his legs wide. Their kissing grew wet and slick, lips gliding against each other, as Stiles’ tongue stroked against his own.

A loud crash brought Derek back to reality, and he jerked away from Stiles to see what the noise was.

"Oh fuck," Stiles said, just as Derek spotted the black and white tomcat blinking back at him from beside a tipped over metal garbage can.

By the time Derek turned back to Stiles, he was looking at Derek in wide-eyed horror, the heady scent of his arousal now mingling with shame and anxiety. His lips were a dark red, puffy and wet; his pupils were almost fully dilated. 

"Shit, I’m sorry," Stiles said, his neck and cheeks flushing a splotchy pink. "I didn’t—fuck."

"Stiles," Derek tried, but Stiles was already opening the car door and scrambling outside. Derek opened his own door, prepared to follow him, when an odd scent filtered into his senses.

"I thought I was _asleep_ ," Stiles said, his arms flailing, "I didn’t think you were really you, I mean, I would never have—"

Derek whirled around, desperate to pinpoint the source of the smell, like the air after a lightning strike, heavy with moisture and electricity. "Get back in the car."

"I’m just going to walk home, okay, it’s only a couple miles—"

From across the street, the cat started hissing and its eyes flashed bright red.

"Stiles, get in the car!" Derek said, before shifting and growling at the witch, who was now stalking towards them, fur bristling.

"What are you even, dude, I’m not—" Derek heard Stiles breathe in sharply. "Right. I’ll call Scott."

As soon as the car door slammed shut, Derek started moving away from the car, away from Stiles. If the witch was going to turn him into a pile of goo, or something, at least there would be no collateral damage. To his relief, the witch followed him, its movement stiff.

"You’re trespassing," Derek bit out, the words slurred slightly by his fangs.

The witch stopped hissing, and sat back on its haunches, tail flicking back and forth. Its eyes were still blood red.

Derek stopped in his tracks. Apparently they weren’t going to murder each other right away. "This territory belongs to the Hale werewolves. Alpha McCall requires a meeting with any visitors or new residents."

The window of the car rolled down from behind them, and Stiles’ voice drifted out. "So, apparently, I got like three texts while I was sleeping — yeah, yeah, shut up, Scott — anyway, Scott and Kira ran into Sandy, she’s like, the leader of the coven or whatever?"

Derek cracked his neck and resisted the urge to tell Stiles to get to the damn point.

"Yeah, okay. But they met her at the grocery store about a half hour ago. She said, uh, what was her mate’s name again? Marcus? Yeah, okay, so that guy’s Marcus, and I guess he’s a little shy."

Derek ignored the spark of embarrassment as he let his features relax back into their normal human shape. "Sorry," he added.

Marcus cocked his head, letting his eyes bleed back to yellow before trotting back to the trash can and fishing out a half-eaten chocolate bar.

"Good choice, man," Stiles called out. "I wouldn’t want to fight him, either." 

Derek brought his fingers up to rub at his temple before turning and walking back to the car.

When Derek shut the door behind him, Stiles’ scent was nervous, but he didn’t seem outwardly upset. He flashed Derek a brief smile, mostly genuine, and went back to tapping his fingers against the car door.

_I’m sorry I kissed you_ , Derek thought, but he wasn’t, really. Instead of saying anything out loud, he sighed, buckled his seatbelt, and slotted the key into the ignition.

***

"So," Stiles said, after about a minute of silence, "I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed pretty okay with me kissing you."

Derek stared at the road ahead, silently praying for a deer to run out in front of them. Something.

"Like, I recall you putting your tongue in my mouth at one point, and I’m almost one hundred percent positive that’s something that requires enthusiasm on both sides, so—"

"What," Derek said from between clenched teeth, "is your _point_."

"Ugh, my point is, we should do it again. As soon as possible."

Derek forced himself to keep looking forward at the yellow reflective squares shining back in the gleam of his headlights, the little pools of sidewalk revealed by the street lamps dotting the side of the road.

Stiles sighed heavily. "Fine, forget I said anything. In fact, do me a favor, and forget everything about tonight, and I’ll just go back to pretending that I’m…" He cut himself off with a sigh.

They were still about a half a mile from the Sheriff’s house. Derek pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. "Tell me about these dreams you were having."

Stiles turned from where he had been staring out the window, shoulders hunched defensively. He blinked at Derek, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. "Dreams?"

Derek couldn’t bring himself to speak around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, so he just nodded. The sounds of his and Stiles’ hearts, beating frantically, filled his ears like a drumbeat.

"It might be, uh." Stiles licked his lips, and Derek couldn’t help but let his eyes dip down, letting his gaze rest on that pink tongue and that soft mouth. "It might be easier to show you."

Derek felt his lips curl up in a smile. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean." Stiles colored slightly. "You maybe already got a sneak preview."

"Well then," Derek said, trying to keep the smirk off his face, and probably failing, "I guess I’ll have to see the entire show."

"Oh my god, you’re the worst," Stiles said, and leaned in.


End file.
